


Seconds to Last

by notwest



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age difference if you squint, Bartender Karkat, Cop Dirk, Director Dave, Gangster Jake, Gun Violence, M/M, POV Alternating, in time AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwest/pseuds/notwest
Summary: Time is money.Karkat Vantas is a bartender who lives in the ghetto with a deadly secret.Jake English is a gun-happy gang leader who's made a life of stealing time from the rich.Dave Strider is a nearly immortal, famed director with a death wish.Dirk Strider is a Timekeeper haunted by ghosts from the past, who has sworn to uphold a corrupt system.





	1. goodnight kiss

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME MY FRIENDS, 
> 
> This story takes place in an alternate universe based on the movie _In Time._ All of the concepts are explained in the story, so don't worry if you haven't seen the movie, you'll be able to follow along just fine.

Dying is a real bitch.

Karkat jolts awake, blinking rapidly as the dimly lit bathroom comes into view. He slowly lifts his head from where he's slumped on the toilet seat lid and pulls himself up, dragging his feet until he's facing the grimy sink mirror. He stares at himself, the sweat that coats his forehead, the deep, dark bags that line his eyes. No matter how many times he goes through this, it never gets any fucking easier.

He turns on the sink and splashes his face with cold water, and then rolls up the sleeve of his dark sweater to check the bright green numbers displayed on his right arm.

0000:00:2:20:58:24

He checks twice to make sure his arm is completely covered again, before heading back to the bar. He grabs a tray of clean glasses from the dishwasher on the way, both as a cover for his disappearance, and because they really need clean glasses up front. Of course, as soon as he places a foot into plain view, he's being accosted.

"Yo," Gamzee says. "My brother, you got any spare time? I normally wouldn't ask but… you know how it is." He's hunched over the bar, staring at his clock, and when he looks up, his face is gaunt and his eyes are glazed and staring.

"No, I don't know _how it is,_ and you literally always ask."

"Please."

Karkat sighs, but extends his left arm to link with Gamzee's. He twists their wrists together and watches the numbers on Gamzee's other arm tick up, from an hour and a half, to five hours.

"Thanks, man." Gamzee gets up sloppily from his stool. His hair hangs limp and oily from his head, and he sweeps it over one shoulder before giving Karkat an apologetic shrug.

"I'll get you back, best friend."

Karkat scoffs openly. "Yeah right. You're going to keep mooching off me like the shameless mongrel that you are. Why don't you try getting a real job, instead of dealing all day like a low life scumbag."

Gamzee just laughs hollowly, displaying double rows of yellowed teeth. "You're funny, Kar. See you around."

Karkat watches him leave. Gamzee really had been his best friend, once upon a time. But living in the ghetto was rough. People in Alternia dropped dead in the streets every day, out of time. Most people here woke up with less time on their hand than hours in the day. Karkat tried to help whenever he could, but he could never have enough.

Institutional neglect led to crime infested streets, full of people who would do anything to make ends meet. Some took to fighting, Alternia's name for deadly arm wrestling competitions where the winner literally took all. Like so many people Karkat knew, Gamzee had simply resorted to the means he had available to survive.

Others did worse.

"Oi!"

Speaking of.

 

* * *

 

Jake saunters into The Pink Moon, the local drinking establishment, pleased to see his very favorite barkeep tending to the public. Karkat rolls his eyes when he looks up and sees Jake. He sure is a laugh, that Karkat.

Jake hops up on a stool, flashing him a grin. Karkat stares at him, eyebrows downturned viciously.

"Jake."

"Howdy! What's a chap got to do to get a drink around here?"

"I don't know, maybe buy one, with actual time?"

Jake chuckles. "That's a rich sentiment coming from the likes of you, my timely friend!"

Jake doesn't miss the way Karkat flinches, quickly glancing around the room. He doesn't have to worry, there's only one other fellow in sunglasses sitting at the corner of the bar, but he's certainly not paying them any attention. Odd to be wearing sunglasses this late at night, but then again, Alternia drew in folks of all sorts. He was wearing a suit, but nothing extravagant, so probably not worth a shake down.

Karkat doesn't say anything further, pressing his mouth together in a line.

Jake drags his eyes over him, letting them linger on Karkat's ticker. Or where it would be, if he didn't fiendishly keep it covered up day and night, rain or shine! So much time, and all he did was pass it out like hard candy to every Tom, Dick and their granny on the streets.

Meeting Karkat not five months ago had sure been a wonderful stroke of luck. At the time, Jake had thought he was just a regular mark, benign enough even, to handle by his lonesome.

See, he’d noticed the guy around, and suspected him to be a little thick wristed but nothing too out of the ordinary. Nothing like what he'd discovered.

Karkat turned out to be quite the slippery snake. Jake was surprised that he'd given such chase for what turned out to be only a couple of days on his person, but Jake took it anyway. Time is time.

There was no hiding his secret once Jake turned around in that alley to see the very same fellow he had just put down, jerking back to life. It was unnatural. It was incredible.

Karkat had begged him not to squeal, and with his eyes running like a broken spigot, he promised Jake he’d do anything.

Of course, Jake agreed. Karkat didn't seem to realize that it was infinitely more in Jake's interest to keep his secret anyway. The chap would be no use to him if he was snatched up by a handsome timekeeper, now would he? But Jake knew it was best to let him think he was getting a large favor, in the interest of leverage. Goodness knows, drink isn't cheap. And of course, all the extra time was certainly something to shake a stick at. Speaking of.

"Let's go then, I'll take my daily," Jake says, planting his left elbow on the bar and extending his arm. Karkat steps forward and grips it tightly, and they both watch as Jake's clock climbs up thirty hours. "Ah. Nothing like a fresh top off, wouldn't you say, chum?"

"Right," Karkat says, wiping his hands on his apron. "So did you want an actual drink or."

"Right-o you are, but it'll be just one tonight, I'm afraid. The boys and I have business tonight, and I have to be sharp."

"Of course, where would they be without their fearless leader," Karkat drolls, tipping a bottle of McKenna into a short glass.

"Topsy turvy down a river without so much as an oar, I should think!"

Karkat snorts as he peels a small bit of rind off an orange, swiping it across the rim of the glass before sliding the drink across the bar, all with a practiced ease.

Jake takes a sip. It goes down hot, just the way he likes it. "Excellent, as usual, my old friend!”

Karkat doesn't answer; he's turned his back to Jake, tending to the other patron. No bother. Jake tips back the rest of the drink quickly and takes his leave.

His men had gotten word that a car had crossed zones all the way from New Skaia tonight. Unfortunately, they'd lost track of the occupant, but that didn't change the fact that somewhere in town was a fat pocketed, Zone One yuppie and it went without saying that the Minute Men wouldn't rest until they found their payday.

 

* * *

 

Dave Strider had escaped the ghetto once, and he had promised himself he'd never go back. But it was somehow fitting to him, to end his life where it began.

He signals for another drink, and watches the bartender scowl openly at him. He smiles. Yep, this place is an absolute shithole. It’s the perfect place to disappear.

It's only a bonus that this bartender happens to be super hot. It's been a delight to watch him stomping around the bar area. His sweater is black, chunky, and not very flattering, but his ass is for sure getting some class action in those tight grey pants. Nice face, too. Dave would definitely pay serious time to be crushed between those plush eyebrows.

Watching him almost makes Dave forget the plan; he's genuinely tempted for a while, to fall back into those primal indulgences that he's been lost in for so long. Unfortunately, all his best lines are completely rejected by this guy—Karkat, he learns from an obscenely muscled dude who comes in wearing a slick, pinstriped suit.

Dave's been watching Karkat at the bar for a couple of hours now and he's noticed something of a pattern. Every fifth or so customer is someone who doesn't get a drink at all but links arms with him in what Dave assumes to be an exchange. Most of them are preceded by a mouthful of scolding, too. He's like a dark, sexy firecracker.

Still, the relieved look on their faces makes it clear that he's a giver, not a taker. It's interesting, if irrelevant to Dave, he wouldn't have pegged anyone in this neighborhood as being able to sling time like that. Maybe he just owes a bunch of people because he went off the edge on some crazy gambling spree or something.

After Dave finishes his fourth Jack and Coke and the pinstriped dude leaves, he decides it's time. He can hear it, if he listens close. The steady pulse of his clock, as it ticks away the few minutes he has left.

He slips off the stool, leaving a four hour tip before slipping out the back exit, where he hesitates. He's not really sure _how_ to do this. He leans against the bricks outside near the dumpster, slipping down onto the concrete to wait.

Death is surprisingly anticlimactic. Dave rolls up one of his sleeves, he has just under fifteen minutes left.

No one will miss him.

He drifts.

Dave wakes up to the sexy bartender, Karkat, standing over him, holding a trash bag.

"Hey," he's yelling, "You can't lie here." He takes a step closer when Dave doesn't answer and his eyes narrow. "Oh," he says, voice a lot lower, "It's you. What are you _doing_ out here?"

Dave smiles weakly. He wasn't really counting on any one walking in on him while he bit the big one. "I'm waiting for my ride, bro."

"You don't look like you're waiting for anything except the swift hand of death. And as much as I wouldn't miss you, unfortunately it's my job to make sure drunks don't die in the alleyway. Let's go."

He bends down, reaching for Dave's ticking arm, and even in the low lamp lights he can see the way Karkat's eyes widen. He drops to the ground, tossing the bag of trash to the side. Less than four minutes to go.

"You irresponsible fuck! What are you doing? Quick, here." He snatches at Dave's hand, but Dave pulls away, surprising even himself with the quick reflex.

"No," Dave says, "I don't want it, I'm ready."

Karkat sputters. " _What?_ No, you're fucking not, take the time."

"No. What's your name?"

"Karkat. Take the time, asshole."

"No. You're hot, Karkat."

"You're drunk," he says. "You don't know what you're saying. Take the time!"

He lunges for Dave's wrist but Dave grunts and pushes himself upright. "No. How old are you?"

Karkat hesitates, glancing at Dave's clock. "Twenty-eight."

"Yeah well, I'm one hundred and five. I've been twenty five for eighty fuckin’ years, I'm not drunk, I'm a grandpa dude, I don't want to live forever. Besides I don't have much to live for anyway."

Dave didn't expect to admit that last part to a random stranger, but hell, it was out there, now. Karkat opens his mouth, but it's clear he doesn't know what to say to that.

Dave looks at him, at his concerned looking, scrunched up face and warm brown eyes. It's so much, and so real. It's a painful reminder of what he's been missing for so long.

"Just do me a favor, help an old man out—give me a kiss before I go?"

Karkat actually takes the time to roll his eyes dramatically, but then they both look down at Dave's timer and his face changes. There's only seconds left when he leans in toward Dave. The kiss isn't soft and hesitant like Dave expected, but instantly deep and demanding, spreading a warmth through his chest and consuming him fully. He puts everything he has left into it, and Dave is happy he can die kissing this beautiful stranger, he's happy to spend his last seconds on Earth tasting his blissfully perfect lips and breathing in the faint smell of alcohol and fruity coconut.

Dave waits to be carried away.

And waits.

What the fuck, it must have been a full fucking minute by now. Dave finally pulls away from the kiss, confused, to see Karkat touching their wrists together, his eyes like steel.

And just like that, Dave Strider has another six hours left to live.

"Aw, what the fuck, dude!"

Dave yanks his arm back, lowering his shades to look at Karkat in the dim light, and the guy shrieks. Oh shit.

"Holy shit," he yells directly into Dave's face, "Holy shit, how did I not recognize you this entire time, you're—you're Dave Strider! What the fuck are you doing out here with only fucking minutes to your name, you're from New Skaia, those shitty ass movies have made you worth goddamn eons!"

Dave sighs. Like any of that meant, well, anything. "Well, I _was_ trying to die."

Karkat pushes himself up, glaring at Dave and brushing his knees off. "Yeah okay, shut the fuck up, no. Now get up, asshole. We have to go, you can't be seen out here."

Dave doesn't move. "Nah. It's not like I have any of that time on me anyway."

"People won't know that, you idiot. This is the ghetto. If the wrong person gets one good look at your face, your pale, talentless ass will be beaten to a sticky, vaguely douchey looking pulp. Trust me." Karkat reaches a hand toward Dave once more. "Let's go."

Dave can't help it, he laughs and takes Karkat's hand. In the combined five minutes they've truly spoken to each other, this guy is already so unlike anyone Dave has ever known in New Skaia.

A few more days wouldn't hurt.


	2. feels like home

Dirk doesn't like mysteries.

After fifty years of being a Timekeeper, there aren't many situations that catch him off guard.

And then there was this one.

He's not sure how long he's been staring at the giant zone map located in the center of the Timekeeper's head station when a rookie officer taps him on the arm. Judging from the look on her face, it's been a while.

"Time, boss," she says, with a small, stretched smile.

Dirk stares flatly at her until she scurries away, and turns back to the board. Colorful numbers are scrolling endlessly across the screen, indicating everywhere time is being spent, transferred, and lost among the zones.  

The thing about time is that it's measurable. Trackable. Precise. And it's Dirk's job to make sure every second stays where, and with whom it belongs.

The movement in Zone Twelve has been small enough that it's evaded his team's careful eye. Fortunately, Dirk notices everything. When he closes his eyes, he can almost see the numbers moving across the backs of his eyelids. Such small transfers wouldn't normally ring any alarms, but looking at the bigger picture allowed Dirk to see them for what they were: a pattern.

He walks over to his desk, where a metal cuff is attached to the desk. He sticks his arm through, resting his wrist on the cool metal.

"Dispatch. Wire me my per diem."

"Time transfer," replies the computerized voice.

He watches his clock go up from barely an hour and a half to a little over a day. Dirk really should be more careful, this isn't the first time he's let his clock drop so low.

Timekeepers live day to day. It's a fact that puts many people off the job, but for Dirk, it isn't about profit. It never was. Because there are rules. And those rules need to be followed to maintain order. Or bad things happen.

For three years, time in Alternia has been steadily increasing by almost a week per day. And if Dirk knows one thing, which he does, it's that time never lies. All he has to do is follow it.

 

* * *

 

Dave Strider is in Karkat's living room. Dave Strider, the world famous director is currently sprawled out on Karkat's ratty couch—where he had made himself comfortable the second they walked in—watching TV and drinking a fucking Capri-Sun.

"So," Karkat starts, crossing the room to perch on adjacent armchair, "we should probably call you a car. It's probably safest to get one straight to the door. My neighbors are pretty quiet, and I can give you some hours for the trip back."

"A car? For what?"

"So you can go back where the hell you belong!"

Dave laughs and finishes the drink, slurping loudly, then sits up and crushes the container in his hands. "Oh Karkat. Karkat, Karkat, Karkat. I'm not going back."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Have you ever been to New Skaia? Dude, the people there are all crypt keepers they've been alive for so long. Kobe!" He throws his juice pouch but misses the small trash can by several feet. His face downturns into a pout.

"Oh, boo fucking hoo," Karkat mocks, crossing the room to pick up his trash. "You are _not_ timing out on my sofa. And if you really wanted to die," he continues, "You wouldn't have come back here with me in the first place." He crosses his arms and leans against the counter, satisfied with his argument.

Dave grins widely, eyebrows lifting behind his shades. "I only followed you here because you've got an ass that don't quit."

Karkat sputters, face heating. "Fuck—what the fuck… you can't just…" He exhales slowly. "You look like shit. Why don't you take a shower here and get cleaned up, maybe wash some of the fetid nonsense from your brain, while you're at it."

Dave's smile grows somehow wider. "I'll take a shower if you join me."

"No, goddamnit," Karkat yells, still flustered. "If you don't stop that shit, you won't need to call a car because I'm going to drop kick your ass clear to New Skaia!"

"Okay, okay." Dave gets up, putting his hands in the air. "Lead the way, _Karkat._ "

Karkat flushes further at the way Dave drawls out the syllables of his name. Karkat's seen him on TV before, but this was so different. He's lean, seemingly all legs with a narrow chest that's outlined a little too well in his fitted suit, and the memory of sharing a kiss with him in the alleyway, along with all of his ridiculously overt advances, is making Karkat's heart race, and his ears burn.

Dave steps forward and Karkat shakes himself out of his trance. "Good,” he says. He shows Dave to the en-suite and gets him a spare towel and some soap.

As soon as he’s is out of sight, Karkat rips up his sleeves to see the other reason he'd been so eager for him to get out of the room. Giving that time to Dave had wiped him out, and now he has less than five minutes on his clock.

_How does he get himself into these situations?_

He lays on his bed, waiting. When it comes down to it, that's really all his life is. Waiting. Waiting to be found out. Waiting for his friends to die. Waiting for someone to do something about this fucked up system they were all living in.

Karkat takes deep breaths, every muscle in his body automatically tensing as the seconds tick down to zero.

0000:00:2:21:00:00

He opens his eyes again when the bathroom door opens and is greeted by the sight of Dave Strider, naked, except for a fluffy white towel wrapped low around his hips. His skin is wet from the shower, and his hair is hanging damp around his face. But what really gets Karkat is his face. Those godforsaken shades have been abandoned, and without them, Dave’s face is open and expressive; his eyes are the color of new brick and wrinkling at the corners, in time with his smile.

Dave twirls with a flourish. "I hope you’re enjoying the show, because there’s only one station."

Fuck! Karkat jumps up, forcing his eyes off Dave’s body. Clothes, he needs clothes. After rooting through the closet for a minute, he tosses Dave some pants and a shirt he thinks will fit.

"You can change here," Karkat mumbles. "You hungry?"

One edge of Dave’s mouth tilts up. "For you? Always."

Karkat rolls his eyes and leaves the room as fast as he can without running. By the time Dave follows into the kitchen, fully dressed, he's halfway toward a decent bolognese.

Karkat looks up in time to see Dave put a dramatic hand to his forehead. "Oh no, he’s hot _and_ he can cook? R-I-P.”

The shades are back. Karkat doesn’t respond, busy getting out plates and utensils for them to use. Dave makes himself at home on the couch again and Karkat leaves him to his own devices while he finishes cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, Karkat seats himself at a respectable distance from Dave on the couch, and they watch a rerun of some Survivor-type reality show while they eat.

Dave groans around his fork. "Damn. This is just like mama nonna used to make it. You put your foot into this or what?"

"First of all, _nonna_  means grandmother, you ignorant piece of shit. And you're damn fucking right I did, I guess I wanted to imbue it with the spirit of you getting the fuck out of here."

"For somebody who keeps telling me to leave," Dave says through a mouthful of pasta, scooting closer to Karkat in the couch so that their thighs are touching, "you sure aren’t in a hurry to kick me out.”

"Please. I just know how late it is and I’m not a complete asshole.”

“Damn, it is late.” Dave puts his plate down on the coffee table and yawns.

It’s almost four in the morning. Karkat himself is used to a nocturnal schedule, but to anyone else it would be a steep adjustment.

"Hold on," Karkat says, getting up for the linen closet. "I have some spare blankets I can get you for the couch."

But when he comes back with the blankets, Dave is gone. A quick search of his small apartment yields one Dave Strider, limbs spread wide across Karkat's bed. He's also taken the liberty of stripping himself down to his boxer shorts. Karkat claps a hand over his face.

"Oh, _fuck_ no."

"How about, fuck, _yes_?"

Dave locks his eyes on Karkat, running a hand down his chest in a trail that ends in him cupping his crotch, thrusting his hips into his palm obscenely.

He's grinning stupidly while he does this, but Karkat can feel himself flushing, anyway.

“What are you, a cartoon character? That's repulsive. And don't forget," he adds, "that you're literally more than triple my age."

Dave laughs. "I prefer to think of it as _experienced_. Or aged.” He kisses his fingertips. “Like a fine wine."

He crosses his legs, putting one arm behind his head to prop it up. He looks so comfortable, definitely more comfortable than Karkat could ever imagine himself being while staying in a literal stranger's home.

However. He can't help but notice the position Dave's in and how stretches out his torso nicely, highlighting all the softly defined muscles and the trail of silvery hair below his navel.

"Yeah right. With skin like that, I’d draw the line a little closer to aged milk. But if you're still wondering, my answer is—shockingly—not a chance! Now, if you don't move your gangly ass to the couch, I can go clear a nice, comfortable spot for you on the curb, right next to yesterday's trash."

Dave grimaces. "Ouch, Karkat. Words hurt." But then his mouth drops open and he sits up suddenly, crossing his legs in front of him. "Oh, wait, I just got it. You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"What?"

Dave points at the clothes he's littered at the foot of the bed. "Those aren't yours. The pants are way too long for you, and there's _definitely_ not enough room for all that ass—“

“Holy shit," Karkat yells, "Shut the fuck up!"

Dave's mouth snaps closed, but he keeps that infuriating smirk stamped on his face. Karkat walks over and sits at the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes slowly. He's suddenly exhausted.

"Not that it’s any of your actual business, but no. I don’t have a boyfriend. Those belonged to my father."

"Oh," Dave's voice sounds from behind him. It's quiet for a moment.

“He was a fighter,” Karkat continues. He doesn’t know why he’s still talking, or why he's telling Dave Strider this, of all people.

"What happened?"

"He lost," Karkat says simply, scooting himself further onto the bed. He's keeping his tone light, partly for Dave's sake, but mostly for his own. "I was 16."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Karkat says. "It was a long time ago."

“What about you?" Dave asks. "Did you become a fighter too? Because I've seen you handing out hours out there like snow cones at the county fair."

Karkat clutches at his arm like Dave can somehow see through his sleeves. “It's none of your fucking business, he snaps. “Actually, shit, how much time do you have?”

Dave looks at his arm and his eyebrows raise. “Damn. Half an hour.”

“Here,” Karkat says, putting out his hand for Dave’s. “This should get you through tomorrow.“

He gives Dave a day, but when he goes to pull away, Dave squeezes his hand, not hard, but just enough to keep him where he is. He leans forward when Karkat looks up at him, and pushes his shades into his hair, eyes soft.

"Can I...?"

Karkat nods, just barely. Dave leans forward, and though Karkat's stomach swoops in anticipation, the kiss is gentle and unassuming, almost hesitant.

Too soon, Dave pulls away. “Thank you,” he says, and it’s the most heartbreakingly genuine thing Karkat has heard him say all day.

 

* * *

 

Dave wakes up to a bright ray of sunshine in his eyes and that’s weird, his blackout curtains don’t let in sunlight in unless he forgot to close them last night— _oh._

The body next to him shifts, and the entire evening comes back to him in a rush. How he’d left his mansion with only ten hours on him. The Pink Moon. The alleyway. Karkat, the sexy bartender.

They'd ended up talking until dawn. Before last night, Dave can't remember the last time he even held a real conversation. Or even when he last  talked to someone he genuinely liked. Karkat was great. He was fiercely opinionated on literally everything, dramatic as all fuck, and extremely passionate about the weirdest things. Somewhere in between the multi-faceted debates about the hidden meanings behind Dave's movies and the cultural relevance of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in modern society, they must have fallen asleep.  

Karkat is lying on his back. His eyes are closed, and one of his arms is outstretched toward Dave, the fingers gently curled upwards. A small but surprising wash of affection overcomes him. _Who is this guy?_

Dave can only stare at him like a complete creep for a few minutes, until Karkat slowly blinks awake, looking thoroughly confused, and then just as thoroughly annoyed in quick succession.

His eyes dart over to the alarm clock on the bed side table, and he jumps up. "Fuck me, it's almost three!?"

"If you insist," Dave says while stretching, his comment undercut by a huge yawn. "But you'll have to get back in the bed."

"Look, I have things to do today. Some of us can't afford to leave our lives behind to wallow in the slums for whatever ungodly reason."

Karkat pulls his sweater over his head, and from his spot on the bed Dave gets a terrific view of his broad shoulders, and the muscles rippling across his back.  

"Nice," he says quietly, and if Karkat hears him, he ignores it.

In his observation, Dave also notices that underneath his bulky sweater, Karkat is also wearing a slim, black secondary sleeve over his timer, the kind of thing people sometimes put on if they were wearing dresses or something without sleeves of its own.

Dave still doesn’t understand if he’s loaded, extremely paranoid, or both. He continues to watch as Karkat yanks on another, equally as baggy sweater and stomps into the hall.

Dave puts on the clothes that he had been given yesterday and then follows Karkat into the kitchen, where he immediately zeroes in on a plate of toast sitting on the counter. He takes a piece from the top and bites into it. Warm butter fills his mouth. Toast, the people’s food. It’s divine.

"So,” he asks, “what are we up to today?"

Karkat slams his hand down on the button for the coffee pot and looks up. “Did you ever consider the fact that I might not want to spend my entire day off babysitting a one hundred and eight year old child?”

"Ouch," Dave says. He takes another piece of toast. "It's your day off, right? C'mon. Let's hit the town. Or better yet, let me take you to my place.”

It's funny, yesterday, Dave would literally rather have _died_ before going back to New Skaia. But now, all he wanted to do was go back, so long as he could take Karkat for the ride.

Karkat sighs deeply as he pulls out two mugs. But by the time he makes himself more toast and they finish off the coffee together, he's agreed to come to New Skaia.

Dave can't stop the uncontrollable grin that spreads across his face. For the first time in a long time, he's excited for the day to come.

 _Things to do,_ for Karkat, turns out to just be wandering the streets, while people approach him one by one, just like they had yesterday at the bar. He shakes their hands meaningfully, the contact lingering, and they always thank him profusely. It's still weird, and kind of cagey as fuck, but everytime Dave asks about it, or makes a speculation as to why Karkat seems to be this neighborhood's friendly anthropomorphic piggy bank, he's met by a threateningly suggestive hand gesture and glare that could melt polar ice caps.

No one who stops for them looks twice at Dave, and Karkat doesn't introduce him. After their third customer, he hums idly. "Hey, should I be offended that no one’s recognized me, yet?"

He's almost immediately met with an eye roll. "People here don't exactly have the luxury of sitting at home to watch faux celebrities baring their non-dimensional asses on trash television."

Dave huffs. "For both points, I'll have you know that I'm related to at least one Kardashian.”

Karat opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a tiny voice shouting his name.

"Karkat, Karkat!"

A little girl emerges from the passing street traffic, she's dirty-faced and looks around six years old.

"Got any time?" she asks.

"Ana, don’t be stupid. You have a entire year," Karkat says, in what Dave is coming to determine is his fake scolding tone.

Apparently Ana knows it too, because she giggles and spins, before fixing her face into a deadly pout.

"Yeah, but not one that I can use!"

She turns and points to Dave suddenly, her eyes wide and accusatory. “Who's this?”

Karkat jumps like he's been tasered. "This is my friend, Dave. Here, here," he says quickly, reaching out his hand for the small metal block she’s holding. She cheers, all Dave Strider related inquiries easily forgotten.

He holds the concave part of the capsule to his wrist, until the small digital display shows five minutes.

"Thanks, Karkat! I can't wait to be 25," she sings. Karkat watches her skip off with a sad smile, then turns back to Dave.

"Her family is so in debt, that year would be gone in a _day._ "

Dave's heart clenches around something unpleasant, something that he distinctly chooses not to examine.

For the next twenty minutes, Karkat continues the walking donation station routine, and Dave trails along, except now he's looking around and really seeing Alternia. Starting with the dead bodies they're passing on the street, people who apparently timed out right in the middle of the day. There are men fighting in shady corners, prostitution and drug deals happening right in the open. This zone was nothing like Dave remembered. It was so much worse.

Karkat tells Dave he can call the car as they reach their final destination, the Alternia Mission, where he shockingly, donates yet more time. They wait there while the "Time" sign lights up like the hot light outside a Krispy Kreme, and the long line of people that have been waiting outside the gated window slowly moves forward.

The sign switches to "Out of Time" after not even two minutes and Karkat’s shoulders slump.

He looks so defeated, Dave is kind of at a loss for words. Is it just him, or did the bags under Karkat's eyes somehow get bigger in the last five minutes? They lean against the Mission wall, and wait for the car in silence.

Dave jumps up when it pulls around the building, and they both get in the backseat. The driver turns around and hands Dave a time capsule. "Here you go sir," he says, and Dave gives him a fist bump.

Sweet. He turns the silvery capsule over in his hands, and he can't stop himself from picturing the little girl, Ana, from earlier.

The dam he's built around his feelings loosens a little. "Gimme a sec," he tells Karkat, before getting out of the car and jogging back over to the Mission's window. He hands the capsule over to the worker, who looks at it and nods. The sign flips to “Time” again. The line starts moving.

Karkat's staring at him from where he's standing behind the open door of the car, eyes narrowed. Dave's hoping he's done enough for now. He doesn't really feel any different. Shit, maybe he should have donated more? A century really was nothing compared to what he had, what he could give once he got back home—

"What did you do?" Karkat asks, when Dave is close enough to hear him.

"I just donated a hundred years."

Karkat's eyes widen. "You just donated… one hundred years," he repeats slowly, like he doesn't quite understand, and then it's like watching a popcorn kernel explode in slow motion.

"Fuck!" he yells, dragging his hands through his hair.

This… was not the reaction Dave was expecting. He was hoping it would be a little more, _Dave you generous bastard, let me kiss you until our lips fall off,_ and a little less, _I'm completely flipping the fuck out in every way._

Dave finally gets to the door. Karkat's eyes are wild. "Listen to me Dave," he says slowly. "We need to go, _now._ "

Karkat runs over to the other side of the car, and Dave is gearing up to argue, to refuse to move until he's offered some explanation for the way Karkat's been acting like he's at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list.

He doesn't get to. Karkat's face pales as the blaring sirens of a cop car cut through the early evening.

A Timekeeper's voice rings out, amplified by the car speakers. "Freeze!" 

_Uh oh._


	3. off the record

_Eternal imprisonment, mutilation, torture, subjugation, death…_

Karkat is fucked. His mind is spiraling, every hellish scenario his brain has ever concocted during late, sleepless nights is resurfacing and cycling one by one through his frontal lobe like a vintage fucking movie marathon.

There's only one thought that rises clear above the rest.

_Run._

"Dave!" he yells over the hood of the car. "Do you trust me?"

Dave takes a second before hesitantly nodding his head. "Yeah, I mean—”

"Then get the fuck in the car!"

Karkat doesn't wait for his response. It’s not like he’s the one in real danger, anyway. He opens the front door to find the driver looking half bewildered, half terrified.

“Get out,” he orders, and when the guy just gapes at him blankly, Karkat grabs him by the lapels and throws him down onto the dirt.

The sirens are racing about as fast as Karkat's heart as he gets in and clips in the buckle. He sees Dave mirroring him in his periphery.

"Why'd you do the driver like that," Dave is saying, "he was a homie, he would driven us wherever we wanted to go, probably—"

Karkat stops listening. The car is already running, so he shifts to drive and books it.

The Timekeepers immediately take off after them, but Karkat knows these streets too well, he's mapped them out in his head as he played out their current scenario countless times over the past three years.

Dave falls silent, gripping his chair as Karkat races down narrow side streets and empty alleyways, glad for the opportunity to concentrate on losing the cop car.

It's in the industrial district that they finally catch their break, when Karkat speeds through a red light and the Timekeepers get halted by the flood of oncoming traffic. He accelerates even more on the now wider roads, and after a couple more sharp turns, he stops at a dead end.

"Come on," he tells Dave, unbuckling his seatbelt. "We gotta run."

"Are you serious?"

Karkat doesn't answer, he just starts running in the direction opposite the one they came. Soon enough, he hears Dave's footfalls as he follows at a close distance.

"What the fuck is going on?" Dave yells.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, okay?"

"No shit! What are you, some kind of secret agent?"

"We'll talk later," Karkat promises. "Just run!"

And they do. They run in silence through abandoned streets and past dilapidated warehouses. After ten minutes, Karkat realizes that Dave's heavy panting behind him has disappeared. He slows to a stops and turns around to see Dave ten yards back, leaning against a burned out lamp post with his hands on his knees.

Karkat sighs and starts jogging back. It's the middle of the day, but trapped in the shadows of the large warehouses, it feels bleak and dim.

"I'm gonna... need to chill out for a bit," Dave pants, when Karkat is at an audible distance. He pushes his shades out of his face, and his eyes are scrunched shut.

Karkat tries and fails to stifle a laugh. "Really. We've _barely_ cleared a mile."

"Hey man, believe it or not, but there's a serious lack of P.E. going on in the Strider household these days."

"It's fine," Karkat says, still smiling slightly. We just had to get far enough away from the car that they couldn't find us."

Dave lifts his head to meet Karkat's eyes. "Right. Because—why, exactly?"

Oh, right. He had promised an explanation. Of course, he can't tell Dave the entire truth about why he ran, but they could start with the reason the Timekeepers arrived in the first place.

"Do you even understand what you did? You can't just dump a hundred years into the ghetto, that's not how things work here. They're probably writing up reports right now about how some lowlife scum cornered you and stole that time."

"I would have told them you didn't," Dave says, standing upright and placing the the back of his hand to his forehead, and the other one over his chest, "But that you did… steal my heart."

Karkat rolls his eyes. "You could have tried. But in this neighborhood, the cops tend to shoot first and ask questions later."

"Looks like some things haven't changed," Dave agrees solemnly. "Also, speaking of time…"

Dave pulls up his sleeve for Karkat to see. There's a little more than ten minutes on his clock.

"God damn it! You didn't fucking take any of that time for yourself?"

"Hey, in my defense, I thought I was about to be driven home, not chased out of town by the authorities."

"Fuck. Fuck!" Karkat is scared to even look at how much time he has. He knows it can't be a lot, since he'd spent the entire morning giving most of it away. He peels up his sleeves.

Thirty minutes.

 _Shit._  There isn't enough time to do anything. They're at minimum twenty minutes from downtown, _if_ they broke the speed limit, _if_ they had a car, and _if_ they weren't both fucking guaranteed to die on the way there.

Regardless of Karkat's feelings about him, Dave can't die. If Timekeepers figured out who was in the car and and subsequently found Dave dead, Karkat had no doubt he would take the fall. Killing a public figure? Karkat would be vilified.

Thick tendrils of fear spread through his body like he's injected his veins with liquid nitrogen. There's no way out of it, Karkat is going to have to time out. In front of Dave Strider. How could he have let this happen?

Dave is gaping at Karkat's exposed arm. He has to suppress the nearly instinctual urge to turn away, to cover it up with his other hand because it doesn't matter anymore. The only thing he can do now is make sure he doesn't accidentally out himself to anyone else while he's at it.

It will be a lot easier to do it first and explain to Dave afterward. Hopefully he won't leave Karkat lying on the street for dead in the couple minutes before he came back.

"Come on. We can't do this here." Karkat pulls Dave sharply by the arm, heading down a dingy alley between the nearest two buildings.

"I didn't… I thought you had—" Dave is sputtering, but allows himself to be dragged away from the street and out of public view.  

"Look," Dave goes on, finding his words, "there's enough time for you to get back. Take my ten minutes, find the car—"

"No," Karkat says. They're just standing in the alley now, he's still gripping Dave's arm. "You take mine. You deserve to live just as much as I do."

"This was your time anyway."

"You would have been home right now if it wasn't for me.!"

"Take your time!"

"Take _my_ time!"

"I've lived long enough!" Dave yells, his voice cracking. He looks at Karkat, his ruby eyes blown wide, like he's shocked that the words came out of his own mouth.

Karkat steps back. "Okay, okay," he agrees quietly.

Dave puts out his arm. He has less than seven minutes. Karkat takes it and yanks him forward into a kiss.

It's bruising and passionate; Karkat kisses Dave like he'll never see him again, his heart thudding in his chest despite his plan because after all this time, he _still_ doesn't know for sure when his clock hits zero, that it won't stay that way.

They pull away, both breathing hard. Dave is wearing a soft smile. "Thank you, Karkat," he says, before turning Karkat's hand in his to start the transfer.

Karkat takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It's now or never. He clamps down on Dave's hand just before his timer hits zero and wrenches it the opposite way, reversing the flow of time.

Dave is screaming, but Karkat can barely hear him over the rush of his blood in his ears.

The world goes black.

 

* * *

 

Jake is already lounging in the interrogation room when Dirk swaggers in, the fetching leather jacket he always sports swishing around his calves. The popped collar leaves just enough of his gorgeous, slender neck on display that Jake can hardly stop himself from thinking about attacking it with his tongue and teeth.

Dirk doesn't meet Jake's eyes just yet, instead turning about-face to fiddle some with the doorknob.

Jake doesn't mind, it's a positively splendid view. Everything about Dirk is long; the dark combat boots that lend a few inches to his already staggering height, the curved nose he holds high under that honey wheat hair, which is carefully carved, as always, into soft peaks. Altogether, he makes for a rather fetching visage.

"Good afternoon," Jake says brightly when Dirk finally turns around to face him. Proper gentlemen should always address each other in good spirits.

Clearly not on the same page, Dirk doesn't return the greeting. He flicks open the file he's holding and when he addresses Jake, his voice is routinely monotone. "Jake English, I've summoned you here as a criminal informant today. There was an incident today in Zone Twelve and you've successfully assisted this office several times in the past."

"Indeed, I have," Jake says. "I'm always happy to lend a hand to dashing Timekeepers such as yourself. But first, what will I receive in turn?"

Jake smiles, and Dirk frowns. He catches himself quickly, arranging his face.

"Right. You and your… associates will receive a pardon for any criminal activity on record. In the last month, the Minute Men have racked up eight counts of second degree murder, twenty two counts of assault and battery, and over fifty counts of armed robbery."

Jake snorts. "Poppycock! We both know your lot don't go after my gang! We run the ghetto, and you let us–Officer Strider, because we're well aware of our boundaries. That's how it's always been." Jake sits back in his chair, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "Now, don't be silly. I'd wager that my assistance is good enough to demand certain…" he trails off, letting his eyes wander slowly down Dirk's body. "...Privileges."

Dirk's eyes snap to Jake's. He sweeps forward and plants two leather clad palms, hard, on the steel table.

"Let me rephrase, English. You're going to help this office, or you will have the _privilege_ of being arrested, right here, right now."

Jake puts his hands up halfway to his head.

"By gum, Strider, I'm perfectly willing to join your game. Provided, of course, that you'll play by my rules."

"Fuck this. I don't have time for your bullshit," Dirk says, straightening back up and turning toward the door. Fortunately, Jake knows a fake out when he sees one, so he just waits silently in his chair for the next move.

Indeed, it's less than thirty seconds before Dirk turns around to face Jake again, a sharp crease forming between his brows. "Fucking fine," he says.

"Excellent," Jake replies brightly, unperturbed. "Camera?" he asks, looking to the corner of the room. "I can't risk my many foes catching wind that I'm blabbing their most precious secrets to the authorities, now can I?"

"It's off," Dirk says quickly.

Jake nods his head toward the one way mirror behind them. "And the observation deck?"

"Locked and empty."

Jake grins. Being the head cheese sure did come with its perks. Dirk heaves a sigh and sits down in the seat opposite Jake. "Now that you're done pretending you aren't going to help me, do you want to know _why_ you're here?

"If my hunch is correct, I presume there's a little time out of place in Alternia?"

Dirk tilts his head. "What do you know?"

Jake puts both elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. "Hush now, pet, I think it's about time I told you the rules of the game. This one is called kiss _then_ tell."

"Goddamnit," Dirk murmurs, a lovely shade of pink tinting his fair cheeks. He slams both hands down again before leaning over and grabbing a fistful of Jake's shirt, pulling him across the table and right up to his face with surprising strength. His breath is warm and honey sweet.

“Jake. Cut the shit and just. Tell me what you know.”

“Uh uh,” Jake tuts, a little breathless.

It wouldn’t come as a surprise to most that Jake has a particular... affinity for the Timekeeper in front of him.

Jake is close enough to see his eyes narrow into slits behind his shades, right before Dirk presses his lips to his with a bruising ferocity, biting hard. Jake is ready for it, immediately raking a hand through Dirk's hair and grabbing a healthy fistful. Dirk gasps into his mouth and good glory, it's delicious.

Yes, it's no surprise that Jake has a thing for Dirk Strider. What might be a surprise, though, is that the very same Dirk Strider has a bit of a thing for Jake in return.

The next thing Jake feels is the cold bite of steel against his neck. He breaks away from the kiss to let out a laugh. Dirk cocks the gun and an electric thrill runs down his spine.

“Walk toward the wall,” Dirk says, his voice dangerously quiet. “Hands above your head. Now."

“You know," Jake says, turning and walking away slowly while raising his arms, "If you wanted to have a gander at my backside, you only had to ask.”

"Shut up and face me," Dirk says in a low voice. Jake turns around, and Dirk is walking toward him with his gun raised, shoulders squared and lips pressed into a thin line.

"A century was just distributed through the timelines in Zone Twelve. Officers are pursuing two suspects by car as we speak.”

"A century," Jake repeats, temporarily distracted. He thinks about the person who had crossed zones from New Skaia yesterday night. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence.

Dirk steps even closer, until they’re only an arms length apart. Specifically, the length of Dirk’s arm that currently has a gun trained at Jake's face.

"I'll ask you again: what do you know?”

“Fair’s fair, I suppose. Very well, the boys and I caught wind last night that someone from New Skaia was blowing through town.”

Dirk lowers his gun slightly. “Okay, so maybe they brought a capsule with them and deposited it this morning. But why?”

Jake shrugs. "Haven't the faintest."

Dirk steps forward again. "Bullshit. You have people all over that zone. You know something."

"Hmm. Perhaps I do, love. Perhaps I might need a little more... persuasion."

"Fuck you, you haven't given me anything I can use yet."

"Well, actually—" Jake starts, before shooting an arm out quickly to grabs Dirk's wrist, both knocking the gun to the ground and twisting Dirk's arm so that he's forced to turn his back on Jake. Within a second, Jake also wraps his arm around Dirk's front, linking it up with his other arm to hug Dirk close to his body.

"Gotcha," Jake says, and darts his head down to press a kiss to the exposed back of Dirk's neck.

"You shit," he grunts out, struggling against Jake's hold. Poor thing.

"Not much without our metal friend, are we?" Jake taunts. He probably shouldn't, but it's hard not to feel a tickle of glee with Dirk's body squirming in his arms just so… enough even to make his nethers start paying a smidgen more attention.

Dirk kicks his foot back, hitting Jake in the shin and causing him to release Dirk and grasp the wall for balance. Dirk immediately takes advantage, ducking under Jake's other arm and delivering a swift jab to his stomach.

"Right," he replies, as Jake wheezes, "Like you don't have two guns fused to your arms whenever you aren't in here."

Dirk pushes forward while he's disarmed, pinning Jake with his body, with one arm on the wall above his head and a forearm up against his throat. Jake’s grabs at Dirk’s arm with his free hand to relieve some of the pressure.

“Tell me what you know,” Dirk grits out. He’s not using enough force to choke Jake out or anything, but it’s still dang difficult for Jake to breathe, let alone answer.

“We never found the chap, did we? But I know who he is,” Jake gets out.

He really does. Funny enough that it's another Strider Dirk is after. His men had seen him today, but those blasted Timekeepers had swooped in before they could make any moves. Once he’d learned the name he realized he’d even seen the fellow at the bar last night for cripes fucking sake. He’d been right under his nose the entire time, while Jake had sat there talking to Karkat— _Oh_.

His men had only recognized one of the pair, but Jake now has a good idea as to who might be accompanying the other Strider on his joyride through town.

He reaches around and grabs Dirks hair, yanking his head back, hard. Dirk gasps, and lets go of Jake’s other arm to pull at the fist that’s encircling his golden locks. The pressure on Jake's neck lessens even further.

“Who is it?” Dirk asks, his voice straining, mouth slanted downwards.

Jake doesn’t answer, busy reaching with his newly liberated arm to push off those blasted shades and reveal Dirk's eyes. They're fixed on Jake like laser beams, the color of a raging fire.  

"There you are,” Jake breathes.

Using quick and deliberate movements, he wrenches Dirk's arm away from his neck and then uses all his strength to flip their positions. With Dirk against the glass, Jake can get as close as he likes. He pushes his hips purposefully up against Dirk's, gripping his waist with both hands.

"I thought we had an agreement," Dirk says flatly. At the moment he seems unaffected, but this is the game they play. The harder Dirk tries to keep himself all bottled away, the more Jake works to see him fall apart by his own hand.

Until then, it's one move after the other, like a game of checkers in the steady push and pull of it, except that in the end they're both on the same side, aren't they?

"Absolutely," Jake says. "A standup gent always keeps his end of a deal."

He trails a finger, featherlight, down Dirk's jawline, ghosts it over his lips. Jake sucks in a breath as they part for him, just slightly, before twisting downward.

“If this is your idea of a fair deal, you might want to check out the Sunday paper for some free coupon inserts."

Pleased, Jake notes that Dirk's composure is slipping, his voice coming in breathier, his words slowed like five pm traffic.

"I think you've come to enjoy my generosity," Jake replies, "though, I can't say my actions are entirely selfless." He presses forward, to drive the point home, grinding his own hardness against a matching, very agreeable lump, and Dirk shudders and gasps.

Jake grins, "Ah, that's the ticket! It confounds me, why you put up such a fuss when I have clear evidence that you enjoy our— _Ahmm_ —games, just as much as I do."

Jake snakes a hand down between their bodies, to the front Dirk's trousers. "I mean if you didn't," he says, stroking Dirk firmly through the fabric, "why in the blazes would you keep me around?"

Dirk's eyes are still narrowed and unyielding, even as his own body contradicts him by leaning into Jake's touch, and his arms do nothing but hang limply by his sides. Jake smiles.

"You're a necessary evil,” Dirk says. “Like going to the dentist.”

Jake laughs. "You may be right,” he says, leaning in until he's close enough to hear Dirk breathing, "After all, there's nary a thing I wouldn’t do to gain access to that lovely mouth."

And just like that they're kissing again, and so help him, the flame of arousal that's been gently smoldering in Jake's belly roars to life. Dirk's lips are soft as sin and sweet as heaven, but most of all, deliciously pliant against his own. Jake’s hand scuttles up to Dirk’s belt buckle while Dirk sighs and loops his arms around Jake's neck to pull him in deeper.  

When they break apart, Dirk is breathing hard, and his eyes, finally, are like molten gold—begging and desperate.

"As it stands," Jake pants out, "I'll settle for the other way around."

And with that he slips down until his knees touch the floor, trailing his hands along Dirk's sides and dragging the unfastened bottoms with him.

From this vantage Jake can look up at wonderful, sharp angles of Dirk's chin and nose, and the way his throat bobs when Jake drags his tongue over his stiff cock through the fabric of his underwear.

Dirk groans, his hips pushing urgently against Jake's mouth.

"Eager are we?" Jake asks, though he knows the answer. He replaces his tongue with his fingers for a second, massaging the wet patch he’s created with his mouthing and kissing. Of course Dirk is more worked up than he’s been letting on. And thanks to Jake, his pristine wrapping and neat bows are slowly but surely coming undone. _Boy fucking howdy._

"Shut the fuck _up_ , English," Dirk says. It’s practically a whine, his not so hidden pleas nested in every word he doesn’t say.

Jake takes mercy on him, fully pulling down Dirk’s briefs to bear his pretty cock, flushed and dripping just for him. He wraps his lips around it, taking him deep immediately. Dirk shudders out a long breath, banging one fist into the wall beside him.

Jake knows he isn't quite as talented with his tongue as Dirk is; sweet Merlin, the man exudes a passion for cock sucking the likes of which Jake has never seen—or experienced—before. Still, it's easy to relax his throat and let Dirk do most of the work. He has one hand twisted in Jake's hair now, and he's fucking Jake's mouth in tiny thrusts that are slowly increasing in pace as he works himself closer to the edge.

Jake just makes sure to keep his mouth a nice, wide and wet home for his little friend, and takes ample opportunity to look up and see the vision that is Dirk with his back arching away from the wall, his free hand alternating between clutching at his chest and pulling at his hair. His noises have also evolved, from shaky breaths to low groans into proper moans, all of his noises coming together to feed the ever growing ache between Jake's legs.

"Jake..." Dirk warns weakly, and Jake just hums and swallows around his dick. With that, Dirk cries out, hips stuttering as he spurts hotly into Jake's mouth. Jake swallows it down diligently, they can't exactly go making a mess of this room, now can they?

Dirk falls back against the wall, panting, and Jake gives his spent cock a few parting licks and tiny kisses as they regain their breath. He rubs his legs together uselessly, making a quick promise to finish himself off at a later time.

“I wonder if you’ve revised your opinion regarding my usefulness to your investigation yet?" Jake inquires, getting to his feet and brushing off his suit.

Dirk snorts. “Right. Next time I'm at my desk, I’ll make sure I jot down ‘toe curling blow job skills’ right next to your mugshot in our files.”

Jake laughs, but he doesn't have time to curate another argument because Dirk's phone rings, then, sharp and sudden in the silence.

"Strider," he answers curtly. His eyes are still shadeless, so Jake can see the way they flash at the same time as he clenches his jaw irritably.

"Okay." He hangs up, pocketing his phone and pulling his pants up.

"Everything... peaches?" Jake asks.

"No," Dirk sighs. "They lost the car. Now would be a great time for you to, I don't know, give me any of the fucking intel you promised. I'm starting to think you don't have anything."

Jake does have information. Not much, but certainly more than Dirk does at the moment. Sure, he now recognizes the description one of his men had given him as Karkat. But he can't give Dirk that. Karkat is far too important to him.

"Now see here, I can tell you who deposited the funds! It was that famous director fellow, Dave Strider. Always thought it was funny coincidence that you shared a name with him."

Dirk eyes snap to Jake's. "Are you sure?"

"As a trapezist on opening day."

Dirk pushes himself off the wall and bends down to snatch his gun off the floor. "It's not a coincidence. I have to go," Dirk mumbles quickly, shoving the gun roughly back in its holster.

Jake starts. "Do you mean to say you share relations?" he asks, unbelieving.

"Yep," Dirk says. He pushes his shades back into place before opening the door. "He's my brother."


	4. two steps forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the extravaganza of pure self indulgence that is this chapter

_No… no no no. “NO!_ ”

Dave drops to the ground with Karkat, still holding his hand.

He stares blankly at the grayed out zeroes, until they blur over and he has to blink the tears from his eyes.

"God damn it," he chokes. "Fuck!"

He slumps back against the brick wall, pulling Karkat with him so his head is resting on Dave's lap. His mind feels hollow.

Nothing about this made sense. Why did they drive out here just to die? And why the fuck was Karkat giving out minutes like Skittles on Halloween earlier if he didn't even have enough time to make it through the day?

Not that it mattered anymore. His hand falls lightly on Karkat's hair. It's mahogany dark and slightly curled, and softer than Dave would have guessed.  

"You were the last interesting thing in my life, you know."

Somehow, in less than twenty four hours they'd made a connection stronger than anything Dave has experienced in months. And now it was gone, and for what? Karkat had given up his life in the name of giving Dave another chance to continue his fucked up existence.

A glance at his own clock tells him he has barely over thirty minutes left. Thirty minutes to live. But he can't. Dave can't just stroll back into his life in New Skaia. Back to the same empty mansion, back to staring every morning into the same soulless eyes he'd come here to escape.

Karkat had given Dave this time for nothing. Karkat, who actually seemed to care about people, who had people in his life that mattered. Karkat, who was only twenty fucking eight. The wetness in Dave's eyes builds up again, enough spill down his cheeks. He's not even sure who he's crying for.

Twenty six minutes left. It's almost like the past twelve hours didn't happen, and Dave is back in the alley behind The Pink Moon, waiting for the cool relief of death.

He strokes Karkat's hair almost mindlessly as he waits to fade into nonexistence. It was better this way. There was nothing for him here.

Dave is still holding Karkat's hand when his body suddenly jerks in Dave's lap and Karkat's eyes flutter open.

Dave gasps. "What the—"

Karkat is alive. Karkat is alive and… glaring at him?

Before Dave can fully understand what's happening Karkat sits up, and almost in slow motion, his open palm connects smartly with Dave's face.

"Ouch," Dave says, and the word falls from his lips like a stream of honey. The sting blooms slowly across his right cheek. His brain feels like it's swimming.

"You piece of shit!" Karkat yells. The snap in his voice yanks Dave into the present.

"You're alive? How—oh wait, did I… am _I_ dead?" Dave lifts up his arm to check. Nope, twenty minutes to go and ticking.

"No, you assfucking moron," Karkat hisses. "Are you seriously telling me you were about to sit here and waste the time I just fucking _died_ to give you?"

Dave sputters. "Fuck, well—wait I'm sorry, but how the fuck are you alive right now?

"I—" Karkat starts, and runs a hand down his face. "Is there any chance that you could just chalk this up to some god given miracle and never ask me about it again?"

Dave crosses his arms. "Not a fuck in hell, dude."

Karkat deflates with a sigh. He pulls himself across the pavement so that they're both sitting side to side against the brick wall. Then, turning his head away like he's ashamed, he thrusts his arm out in front of Dave.

Dave blinks at the glowing green numbers. He's got almost three days. "How the fuck," he mumbles.

"It's some kind of glitch, I think," Karkat says quietly. He's still not looking at Dave, but his arm is still out. It's shaking. Dave takes his hand.

"Whenever I time out, I wake up a few minutes later with two days and twenty one hours. Always two days and twenty one hours."

"How many—" Dave starts to ask, but Karkat flinches and he quickly drops the question.

"Did you know," Karkat says, with an odd laugh, "That the first time I 'died', I was on my way home from work? The price for my usual bus ride had doubled overnight and I didn't have enough. I fucking begged but those assholes wouldn't let me on."

"The motherfucking ghetto," Dave grumbles.

Karkat coughs slightly, before continuing to talk down to the concrete. "Yeah. My house was a fifty minute walk and I only had thirty. My friend, Gamzee was waiting at the bus stop to help me out when I got off. Joke was on me I guess. I started running, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the middle of the fucking street. I had to make up some shitty story about getting mugged to explain to Gamzee why I never showed up that night. To keep myself safe, I had to lie to everyone. My life's never been the same."

"Shit, dude." Dave says. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah. The second time, I was trying to kill myself."

Fuck. Dave squeezes Karkat's hand. It's so warm. "My dad was dead. Life here was—“ He interrupts himself, shaking his head. "I didn't think there was anything left. _Anyone_ left."

Dave swallows thickly, but doesn't say anything. Karkat gently retracts his arm then, gathering his knees up to his chest.

"After the third time, I realized it wasn't going away. I didn't know what was happening but I knew that no one could find out."

"That you’re immortal.”

"No dipshit, I’m not immortal. I'm cursed. This is a death sentence, considering it's only a matter of time before someone finds out what I’ve been doing.” Karkat finally turns his head toward Dave. He looks panicked, delirious even. "So if you're going to hand me over the the Timekeepers, I'd prefer if you told me now, so I can get a running start."

Dave squints at him. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He scoffs. "Everybody wants to live forever. Unfortunately, not all of us are allowed to."

"Do you really think I'm about to turn around and call the cops on you?" Dave laughs. It's not actually funny, but the thought is just incredulous. His mind does flash briefly to Dirk, but... that seems like a conversation for another time.

"I don't fucking know!" Karkat yells, throwing his arms out. "I met you all of two days ago, who knows what you're capable of!"

"Hey, chill, I'm not gonna tattle on you dude," Dave says. Karkat looks a little relieved at that. Or at least Dave thinks he does.

"Thanks,” he says gruffly.

Something else finally clicks in Dave's mind. "Hold up. So you gave me that time knowing you were coming back."

Karkat makes an adorable show of rolling his eyes, but nods slowly.

Dave snorts. "I… Dude I can't even _believe_ you used the same trick on me twice."

Karkat full on laughs at that. "You know what Dave Strider—I don't know if you know this, but you’re a stubborn fucking prick."

Dave grins, scooting his ass so he can sit a little closer to Karkat on the street. "Oh, I can show you a fucking prick."

Karkat laughs again, a blush creeping across his face and Dave takes hold of it, pressing their mouths together gently. Karkat sighs and Dave slips his hands into his hair, licking at his lips needily until they part slightly and he can slot their mouths together. Karkat hooks his arms around Dave's neck and they stay like that, exploring each other's mouths until the alley is noisy with hurried pants and tiny moans, both of them pushing forward like they can somehow phase through the other.

Eventually they pull apart and Karkat's expression turns serious. "Okay, you have to promise me you'll go home now. I can't be responsible for putting you in any more danger."

"Fuck off! You promised you would come to New Skaia." Dave crosses his arms.

Karkat heaves a pained sigh. He's silent for a moment. "You know what, they're probably still looking for us. It actually might be good to get out of town."

Dave lifts his arms in victory. "Hell fucking yes."

"Here, take some time" Karkat says, extending his arm again. Dave grabs it without even looking at the transfer, using it to yank Karkat close enough to kiss him again. A small shiver of excitement runs through his belly at the thought that this won't be the last time they do.

"Someone almost dying and us kissing in an alleyway," Karkat deadpans. "Tell me why this sounds so familiar."

Dave just grins and flicks his shades down over his eyes. "I'll call the car."

 

* * *

 

Dave's mansion is _enormous_.

Like, unforgivably, ostentatiously enormous. He drags Karkat through room after room for ten entire minutes before Karkat taps out, and in that time they pass six bathrooms, three dining rooms, a grand ballroom and an entire fucking bowling alley.

Karkat tries hard to ignore the sour feeling that curdles inside him as he pits the decadence of Dave's engraved gold plated doorways against the ramshackle rooftops of Alternia.

_He didn't create the system. He's only living in it._

Dave is beaming as he introduces Karkat to the various members of his service staff they encounter lurking in the corners of the house.

The ride over was uneventful. Karkat had sat tensed and quiet in the backseat of the black car, unable to really talk about anything meaningful while the driver was in direct earshot. Dave, having immediately noticed his discomfort, started kissing Karkat silly, and didn't stop until they arrived in New Skaia.

Just around back, there's a lake. Dave has a lake in his backyard.

"Came with the property," Dave says dismissively, as Karkat gapes. They're standing at the shore, the sky glinting pink off the water. "I never go in it, though."

Karkat scoffs. It's not like he loves swimming, but—"You have _this_ in your backyard, and you never go in?"

Dave shrugs. "I mean I used to, like fifty years ago."

The reminder of their age difference makes Karkat's stomach clench with something like nerves. "I can't even swim," he says, mostly to himself.

Dave wheels around dramatically to look at him. "Excuse me? Well now we gotta go in."

They both strip down to their underwear, and Karkat pretends not to notice the way Dave's eyes roam over his body, even as dense heat rises to his cheeks. They set their clothes on a nearby rock, Karkat's in neat pile and Dave's heaped haphazardly, sunglasses resting safely on top. The whole thing looks like a melted snowman.

The cold water is a nice contrast to the summer air. Unfortunately, Dave actually is a good swimmer. He circles laps around Karkat as he practices how to tread water, but spends most of the time flailing and sputtering.

Dave hooks his arms under Karkat's and tells him to kick his legs, and it's kind of embarrassing and every level of so fucking stupid, but Dave's eyes are right there twinkling at him, sitting above a tiny smile that urges him on.

The sky is dark when they emerge, wrinkly and shivering. Without towels, they run clutching their clothes and laughing, almost naked through the halls.

"Sorry," Dave pants after their third wrong turn, "It's like a fuckin’ maze in here."

Karkat shoots him an incredulous look. "You live here!"

He gasps when they finally enter Dave's bedroom, it's nearly the size of Karkat’s entire apartment. The entire wall opposite the bed is a huge window leading to an inky black sky. A dark, shaggy rug covers the floor and the bed itself is dressed with an elegant, gold accented maroon quilt and elevated by four dark, wooden canopy posts.

"I never come in here," Dave remarks idly. Karkat follows Dave into the bathroom trying to contain his furious blushing at his unobscured view of the thin, white boxers that are currently clinging wetly to Dave's ass… and everywhere else.

The glass window extends into the bathroom, contrasted by walls of clean, gray marble tile. There's a Jacuzzi style bathtub tucked away in one corner, and in the other is a standing shower walled in by pristine glass doors.

They rinse off in their underwear, taking turns kissing each other up against the glass walls and giggling under the warm spray.

The second time Dave presses himself flush to Karkat's chest and moves down to kiss wetly at his neck, Karkat can feel the hardness pressing up against his abdomen. His face flames and he pulls away. "I think we should slow down," he says, hating every word as it comes out of his mouth.

Dave immediately lifts his hands in the air and steps back, mouth widening. It's a little bit of a comical sight, since his erection is still clearly visible and pointing directly at Karkat.  

"Shit, yeah. Jesus, of course—I, uh. Sorry." He looks down, scratching at his neck. "I didn’t mean to assume, it's just you're so hot and wet and here, with me…" He laughs, but it's tight and uncomfortable.

"Fuck—Dave, it's fine. I'm not a blushing goddamn virgin, I just wanted to slow down!"

Dave still looks uneasy, so Karkat crosses over to kiss him firmly on the mouth. Of course it escalates, until Karkat has an aching erection to match Dave's, until they're both panting and gasping as they rut against each other through sopping wet fabric.

"Okay okay." It’s Dave who pulls away this time, panting. "Karkat, and I say this with hella respect, we gotta stop before I straight lose it in my pants."

Karkat laughs, but nods thankfully. He doesn’t admit it but he wasn't too far off himself.

After they dry off, Dave gives Karkat a pair of silk, grey boxers to wear and they both collapse into bed, limbs and tongues quickly entwining once again. Dave attaches himself to Karkat like an oversized, pale leech, mumbling nonstop compliments that light up Karkat's insides. He's not even sure Dave realizes he's speaking out loud.

Dave touches Karkat like he's blind, guiding his fingers carefully down his body and across every inch of skin, but always stopping at Karkat's navel, just to start again.

It's not long until Karkat's worked up beyond belief. His breath hitches and he tilts his hips desperately every time Dave's fingers trail down his stomach, despite what he said earlier.

"Break?" Dave offers after Karkat lets out a particularly pathetic whine.

"Yeah," Karkat agrees. His face is so, so hot. They should really stop. As much as Karkat's body is begging otherwise, they just can't do… that. They barely know each other. It's too soon. "Actually, I'm feeling tired anyway."  

Dave nods solemnly. He rolls off Karkat with a _hup,_ flopping down by his side. They're both breathing hard, mirrored arousal tenting their underwear.

"Goodnight Dave," Karkat forces himself to say.

"Goodnight, Karkat."

Karkat won't be sleeping anytime soon. All of the exhaustion from earlier has vanished in the face of his rapidly beating heart and the raging hard on he's trying miserably to ignore.

When Karkat closes his eyes for a second to focus on evening out his breathing, he feels Dave slip off the bed. Karkat presumes it's to go to the bathroom, until he hears the nearby rustling and clinking.

He opens his eyes to see Dave closing the top drawer of a large ornate dresser with a small bottle in his hand. Karkat sits up and raises his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

Dave shrugs. "I was just gonna go take care of this," he says casually, pointing his eyes down at the bulge in his shorts. "I'll be done in a few, you can totally have next if you wanna do a little five on one, shake hands with the milkman, choke the chicken, celebrate palm Sunday—"

Karkat's face is flaming again. Oh my god. "—Fuck, stop!"

Dave's mouth snaps closed and Karkat hesitates. He still doesn't want to go too fast, and maybe his brain is a little too lust addled to make responsible judgment calls right now but he makes the choice anyway. "Do you—would you want to… do it here?"

Dave licks his lips and Karkat shivers. What the fuck, he's never been so affected by someone before. "Are you sure?" Dave asks.

Karkat nods, his stomach flipping.

Dave's mouth curls into a grin. "Hell yes. I'm gonna make this good."

He skips across the room, turning off all the lights except for the lamps at either bedside, leaving the room washed in a warm, dimmish glow. There's a velvet fainting couch adjacent to the bed that Dave throws himself onto sideways, so that he's facing Karkat with his legs dangling freely over the raised arm. Karkat is close enough that he can see the dark spot on the front of Dave's underwear and the outline of his cock pushing against the silk. Dave turns his head toward the bed and fucking winks, before sliding a hand slowly down his chest. Karkat follows it with his eyes, and then continues hungrily down the long, lean line of Dave's body. He's gorgeous.

"This is what you're doing to me," Dave says, squeezing himself with a tiny shudder. "I'm depraved. I can't stop thinking about you."

His words set Karkat's skin ablaze. Dave shimmies his pants down, bending his legs to pull them completely off and Karkat's mouth goes dry. Dave doesn't waste any time, clicking the little bottle of lubricant he'd retrieved earlier open with one hand and squeezing some out into the other.

They both gasp simultaneously when Dave turns and makes searing eye contact while slowly strokes the length of his cock. He drops one leg to the floor, spreading himself wider and groans as he swipes his thumb over the head, back arching slightly off the chair.

Karkat is gripping the sheets on either side of him. "Fuck, Dave," he whines and bites his lip.

"You're so hot," Dave says, one slick hand starting to pump himself in earnest while the other rubs at his chest. "Shit, I want you so bad."

Karkat can see the exact moment Dave loses himself—when his eyes slip shut with a shaky gasp and hips start moving upwards to meet his fist, the cocky smile on his face slowly overcome by an open mouthed expression of genuine pleasure.

Karkat can't stop himself from squirming on the bed. His own dick is throbbing in a brazen cry for attention, burning need radiating from every pore.

Why is he doing this to himself?

Fuck it. Karkat slides himself off the bed and walks over to Dave while he's still touching himself. Once he's by the couch Karkat freezes, suddenly mortified and not sure what his plan even exactly was, but then Dave's eyes pop open.

"Hell yes," he breathes, before pulling Karkat flush to his body. Their lips crash together, and Dave is so _hot_ under him. Karkat rakes his fingers through Dave's hair while pushing his hips helplessly forward.  

When they break for air, Dave runs his thumb down the side of Karkat's face, tracing over his lips. "So," he asks conspiratorially, "can I touch?"

As soon as Karkat nods his head warm hands are slipping beneath his waistband, cupping his ass and squeezing. He groans, trying to somehow press himself tighter to Dave, his thrusts becoming mindless and erratic. He needs _more._

"Fuck these things," Karkat mumbles, stumbling off the chair to yank down his boxers.

"Oh, fuck yes," Dave says, jumping to his feet and wrapping his arms around Karkat's bare waist. He immediately presses their bodies back together, but now Karkat can feel Dave's cock, stiff and twitching against his stomach as he attacks the delicate skin of Karkat's neck, opening up a new vein of desire that runs through his body.

"Please," Karkat begs into Dave's shoulder, and then he's squealing as Dave bends down and scoops him into the air, spinning him around once before depositing him onto the center of the bed.

Karkat spreads his legs, too far gone to feel any shame, and Dave settles in between them, brick red eyes boring into his. "I can't get enough of you," he growls before descending and kissing and licking his way down Karkat's chest and then back up to his lips again, all the while grinding himself lightly on Karkat's leg. Karkat dissolves into a nonstop chain of pathetic whines, torturously aware of the way Dave's cock is dragging heatedly along his body.

The next time Dave crawls back up to kiss Karkat's lips again he holds him in place, shifting his hips until their crotches line up perfectly, each swallowing the other's relieved groan. They cling to each other, moaning and rolling their hips to a rhythm that's wild and desperate and ungraceful.

 _More._ Karkat snakes a hand between their bodies and wraps his fist around both of them. Dave throws his head back and whimpers, and after three strokes his body shudders and he comes with a high, broken moan.

Karkat's not far behind. He pumps their cocks together relentlessly, his movements quickened by the slip of lube, his own wetness and Dave's release.

Karkat's breath catches in his throat as he feels the familiar tension building up and winding like a gut string, tighter and tighter, until he finally comes staring into Dave's eyes, the tender look he finds there forcing an overwhelmed sob from his chest.

They collapse and lie there together until the mess on their stomachs dries tacky and unpleasant, and they end up back in the shower, half rinsing off and half kissing sweetly, until their combined tiredness finally wins out.

As Karkat makes himself comfortable on the bed once more, Dave disappears into his closet, emerging shortly after with an odd look. He struts over and flops face up next to Karkat, throwing out his arms out on both sides. Karkat looks down at the hand lying next to him, eyes drawn to the glowing green. He's wearing over a thousand years.

"Jesus fuck," Karkat mumbles.

Dave's face wrinkles in confusion before he follows Karkat's gaze and his expression turns sheepish. "Oh right. I was actually… going to give this to you."

"What?" Karkat says, instantly awake. He pulls himself up, leaning against the plush headboard. "I can't take that."

Dave rolls over to look at Karkat, his eyes wide and serious. "Yeah well. The thing is," he says, taking Karkat's hand, "I never want to see you die again."

Karkat yanks his hand away from Dave's, maybe a little more harshly than necessary. But Dave… he doesn't understand, he doesn't know how many friends Karkat's seen die already, how many people he couldn't get to in time...

And then he's nearly shouting, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes that he blinks away hard. "No! I don't care what you want! For almost three years I've died every day, usually twice. And it's worth it, because every time I die it means someone else gets to live a little longer."

Dave seems to shrink into himself at that, and Karkat swallows the rest of his rant, slumping a little on the bed.

Yelling at Dave didn't feel right. But at the same time, he was one of _them._ And yet, from what Karkat had seen him do at the mission to this, Dave was looking less and less like the rest of New Skaia, and more and more like maybe he just needed an opportunity to set himself apart.

It's quiet. Seconds tick by. Dave's head is hung, he's absently drawing patterns on the sheets below them with a long finger. Then, "Does it hurt? Dying?"

Karkat doesn't answer. He slides himself down the bed until he's staring at the gaudy, modern chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It takes a while to swallow down the knot that's suddenly lodged itself at the top of his throat.

"Yes," he answers quietly. "It's terrifying. And it hurts. It hurts every time."

Dave maneuvers himself on the bed until his side is pressing warm against Karkat's. "Take it then," he says, gathering Karkat's hand in his again. "You don't have to die again. You can go back and give all this to them. And then come back to me. There's more where this came from."

Karkat is speechless, he can't even imagine having a day go by without feeling that icy plunge in his stomach, or the full body pinch like an electric shock, or the helpless numbness and unfeeling cold that accompanied his time outs.

He feels himself nod slightly. Dave gives him a dazzling smile before pulling him in close for a grateful kiss.

He twists their arms together, and Karkat can't help but look as hundreds of years travel between them.

Dave leaves himself with ten years. And now Karkat has a thousand. He's still trying to wrap his head around that having that many hours when Dave drapes both an arm and a leg over him and starts nuzzling his face into his neck, not unlike a large cat.

"'Night, K'kat," he mumbles sleepily.

Karkat kisses the top of his head. "Goodnight Dave."

As Karkat is finally drifting off, Dave lifts his head and snorts suddenly.

"Sixty-nine," he whispers.

"Mmm, what?"

“Two days and twenty-one hours. That's sixty-nine hours," Dave says, now breaking into quiet giggles.  

Huh. So it is.

"You're a child," Karkat mumbles, with no bite to it.  

Dave just laughs fully, and Karkat closes his eyes again while he snuggles back into to his side.

A small comfortable warmth seeps into Karkat's skin that has nothing to do with Dave's body heat.

Sleep will be nice.


	5. seeing red

"Love, come back to bed."

Dirk ignores Jake, pulling on a nearby pair of boxers and beginning to pace around the room. The light of the moon is just enough to ensure he won't trip and break his neck over a fold in the carpet or something. Sometimes Jake did this: he would appear on Dirk's fire escape late nights with a bottle of something and a sly look, and by the end of the night they would be in bed. 

"This is the last time," Dirk warns him, every time. It doesn't make a difference because Dirk is a fucking liar. And loneliness is a bitch. Horniness is also a bitch. And more often than not, Jake genuinely had good intel. 

"It just doesn't make any sense," Dirk mutters. "Why was he here?"

Dirk hasn't talked to his brother in over two decades, and now this? He's trying and failing not to think about the fact that Dave had been in Alternia yesterday and… didn't look for him. 

"Perhaps the man had some dodgy business to attend to. Goodness knows this would be the place." 

Dirk stops to look at Jake, who is elbowing his way into a sitting position on the bed. Dirk tries not to think about the fact that he's completely naked underneath the covers. "Criminal business you weren't aware of? I'm somehow doubtful."

"Oh, come now! You know, I'm not the ruthless dratted kingpin you make me out to be."

Dirk snorts. "I'm not the one who said the K-word."

Jake frowns. "What's the story then, between you and he? You look more troubled than a washed up sea lion."

Dirk clenches his fists. "There's no story because he wasn't fucking around to be in one."

Dirk crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed. He doesn't face Jake, not willing to see the pity in his eyes. Why was he even talking to English about this? 

"He left after our bro died. After he was killed. In a fight."

Jake clicks his tongue. "Fighting is a nasty business. I'm sorry to hear that, I really am."

Yeah. Like Jake wasn't always locking arms with someone. The thing about fighting is that it's not actually against any laws. Two consenting parties, one winner. One survivor. Bro had been really good at it. He had to be. 

The idea of Bro losing a fight is inconceivable to Dirk, even after all these years. Unfortunately, Timekeepers didn't didn't investigate deaths like that in the ghetto. There was barely even a file at the station that mentioned his death. Not that Dirk hadn't poured over what was there hundreds of times.

Dirk bends over, linking his hands over his neck. “Do you know anyone named Karkat Vantas?”

“No, can’t say it rings a bell.” 

“My men said he was the other guy at the mission. The driver who was with Dave."

Dirk feels strong hands curl around his shoulders, pulling him upward and massaging into the admittedly tight muscles there. Jakes fingers feel good, and Dirk doesn't fight the way he relaxes into the touch, or the contented sigh that escapes his lips.

"There we are, poppet. Criminy Dirk, I'm of the mind that you should take a siesta regarding this particular investigation. Or hand the reins to someone else perhaps? You do have a personal stake in the matter, after all."

Dirk puts his knee up on the bed and turns his body so he's facing Jake. "I just—I can't do that." He sighs, running a hand down his face. "I think I'm gonna take a team over to Dave's place. If he was actually dumb enough to go back to that mansion, there's a good chance that Vantas will be with him."

Jake clicks his tongue and puts his hand on Dirk's cheek, running a thumb up his jawline. 

"I've no doubt that you're worried about your brother, sweet. But don't you think you're pushing yourself a little too hard? Hells bells Dirk, if I can speak openly, you look doggone exhausted!" His hands are back on Dirk's shoulders, steadying and confident. "Stay with me tonight."

Jake leans in and presses his lips to Dirk's gently. Dirk hesitates, before giving in and kissing him back; his mouth is sweet and warm and for a second Dirk is lost in his touch, letting himself be tipped down until his back is touching the mattress and Jake is pressing kisses into his collarbone from above. 

Jake sucks at spot just below his ear and Dirk moans, trying hard to make his mind stop spinning and lean into the moment. It's hard, it always is. He winds both hands into the hair at the back of Jake's neck, anything to get him closer.

"Ah yes," Jake rumbles against Dirk's skin. "There's the gravy. Forget about Vantas."

Maybe Jake was right. Well, he definitely wasn't right, but maybe Dirk could give in… Just this once.

"Okay," he breathes, and Jake's face lights up. With the go ahead received, he has Dirk's underwear off and is back to sucking at his neck in the next five seconds. 

When Jake's hands trail lower, Dirk gasps and shifts his hips up in an embarrassing display of eagerness, his dick already half hard. 

Dirk scolds himself, ordering his bottom half not to move, but it doesn't matter because Jake is taking his hips into his large hands and massaging his thumbs into Dirk's hip bones while meeting his eyes with a gentle smile.

Dirk blushes at the intimacy of the gesture. Jake sometimes hinted at wanting more from this but as far as Dirk was concerned, that was never going to happen. Yes, they are sleeping together, but that's all it is. They are from different worlds, after all. Dirk has priorities he needs to focus on, and right now Jake is just a stop along the way.

Dirk is yanked back into the present by the feeling of Jake mouthing over the hair just below his navel. He groans, once again bucking in anticipation. He's fully hard now, and a quick glance tells him Jake is similarly warmed up.  

Jake only laughs as he moves lower, warm breath ghosting over Dirk's straining cock.

"There you are, plum. I thought I'd lost you!"

Dirk rolls his eyes and puts a fist in Jake's hair. "Shut the fuck up, English."

Surprisingly, Jake does as he's told, and Dirk groans when Jake takes the head of his cock into his mouth, giving it a gentle suck.

God, that feels good. And there's definitely a lot Dirk appreciates about the way Jake never hesitates to drop to his knees in front of him and git along little doggie, but right now he's interested in something else. Dirk wants to clear his mind, and he's found there's nothing for that like a good face fucking.

" _Mnnnph,_ Jake, wait. Come up here and put your dick in my mouth."

"Brazen tonight, are we?" Jake says, but immediately knees his way up Dirk's body like he's a monorail, until he’s leaning over Dirk with an arm braced on the wall and his cock bobbing happily—beautifully, deliciously hard and glistening with precome. Dirk licks his lips, picking his head up slightly. "Fuck yes, I am," he breathes.

Jake smiles widely before pushing his hips forward and Dirk opens his mouth wide, hungrily swiping his tongue over each new inch of Jake that enters his mouth. From this angle, there's really nothing to do but skip to the main event and Jake doesn't hesitate, pushing further and further into Dirk's throat, until there's no more of him to take. 

Jake holds himself there, hissing, and Dirk breathes through his nose, loving the unyielding and solid feel of him in his throat. Jake slowly moves his hips, sliding out of Dirk's mouth to allow him to suck in a deep breath and stick his tongue back out before he's pressing deep enough again to make Dirk's eyes water and his throat flex, and then he's slipping out, his pace increasing ever so slightly with each thrust. 

Dirk's body is tingling; he loves the feel of it, lives for the burn in his lungs and the ache in his cock as he works to relax his throat and let himself be used. Jake is murmuring praise to him, strong fingers twisting into his hair and pulling his head forward just slightly, and it's so good.

Finally Jake pulls away, panting and cursing. "Christmas Dirk, you feel incredible." He raises his eyebrows. "But I think I'd rather finish off in your pretty bottom." 

God, why did everything Jake said always make Dirk want to bury his head six feet into the ground, but also turn over, press his face into the mattress and spread his ass cheeks for the world to see? 

To be honest, he's not even sure he can handle Jake like that right now; he'd been wrecked pretty thoroughly from their first go around earlier. Still, the heat coiling in his belly is ordering otherwise and he adjusts himself, turning around on the bed until he's on all fours and he feels Jake pressing open mouthed kisses to his spine, lube slicked fingers trailing up the inside of his thigh. 

Dirk winces when Jake's fingers finally reach their destination, suspicion confirmed. He grunts an unhappy sound and Jake's hand whips away. Dirk lets himself collapse on the bed, turning around to face him. "Sorry dude, I don't think I'm ready for round two yet."

For his part, Jake doesn't look disappointed in the slightest. "No matter," he says brightly. "I've been itching to have a go at playing catcher of late, anyway." 

Heat wracks Dirks entire body. Oh fuck. They've only done this only a handful of times; generally Dirk bottoms, it's somewhat of a self indulgent pattern that they've fallen into, but not one that he wasn't fine to disrupt.

They adjust positions, and Dirk settles more comfortably on his back, watching Jake use his already slick fingers to spread himself open. ("No sock or sense in letting our sexy jelly go to waste!")

They both sigh as Jake slowly lowers himself down, wraps his arms around Dirk's neck, and rocks them together. The eye contact is a lot, and Dirk whines when Jake squeezes around his cock, throwing his head back. 

Jake is quick to pull Dirk back up by the hair and press their mouths together, biting down on Dirk's bottom lip and raking fingernails up his side. The combo makes Dirk gasp and buck up as Jake shudders in response. Apparently pleased with the results, Jake does it again, and again.

"Oh god, Dirk you feel amazing, you marvel, you absolute wonder," he babbles as Dirk's eyes cross with pleasure. The praise, the way Jake feels on top of him, it's so good, it's so much. This is going to break him. 

"Stay together for me, darling," Jake says—because of course Dirk was speaking out loud—before leaning back and bracing himself with one hand on the bed, rolling his hips with more enthusiasm while Dirk gasps and sweats under him. Jake wraps a hand around his cock, throwing his head back with a groan and Dirk’s toes curl at the sight. He forces himself to relax against the building pressure only to have it climb twice as fast in seconds, the sight of him just too fucking hot. "Jake," he warns. "I'm gonna—” 

"Hold on for me doll, just a few more shakes..." Jake's hand becomes a blur and then he's orgasming with a shout, his release spattering Dirk's chest. 

He leans in then, hunching over Dirk and kissing every sensitive place on his neck, rocking against him in hurried movements. Dirk's body shivers and Jake grabs his chin, kissing him deeply as he jerks up again and again, reaching a crescendo. "You beauty," Jake whispers, clenching around Dirk's cock one last time and he's gone, fingernails digging into Jake's shoulders as he comes so hard he can feel tears gathering at the edges of his eyes. 

Past the post-sex haze and after they've both cleaned up and are lying in bed, Jake wrapped around Dirk like an oversized lemur, a thought comes to him. 

"I just remembered something," Dirk says, pushing Jake away so he can sit up and check records on his phone. "There was a case before my time that involved a Vantas."

Jake exhales loudly, a clear expression of disapproval regarding the sudden revisit to this subject. "Any relation?"

Dirk jumps up, grabbing his underwear and walking over to the closet, still scrolling.

"Karkat Vantas is his son. Apparently Vantas Senior was some kind of revolutionist who was obsessed with breaking the system, so he traveled between zones, bringing stolen time back into Alternia. He only did it in small increments though." Dirk pulls a clean shirt over his head. "Said it spread hope."

"Hope can be quite powerful indeed," Jake says, like a cryptic fuck. Dirk doesn't turn around, putting on his pants, grabbing his gun and holster. It's time to go into the station.

"Yeah, well. Eventually he was killed when a fight went south. Some people said it was murder, but just like my Bro, Timekeepers never did an investigation so we won't ever know for sure. The ghetto is like a fucking giant self-perpetuating pit of violence and murder. It's what happens when people like you are allowed to roam free." 

Not like Dirk wasn't equally as complicit for the sorry state of that zone. They all were. Sometimes it seemed too sprawling of an issue to ever be fixed. Sometimes it seemed like no one wanted it fixed. And then Dirk remembers his bro, and vows to put down every criminal he possibly can, for as long as he lives. And to keep Jake around. Only for information, obviously. 

Jake's been silent for a while, which is unusual. Dirk pulls on his jacket and turns around to see that he's disappeared, the curtain in front of his open window blowing lightly in the breeze.

 

* * *

 

Karkat sleeps deeply, and when he wakes up alone in a strange bed sometime in the late afternoon, he panics. He sits up, frantically checking his watch to find the thousand years that Dave had given to him and it all comes rushing back.

He flops back onto his back, sighing. He needed to be just as careful with this as he did when he was dying every eight hours. He finds his clothes and walks through the halls, but Dave is nowhere to be seen. How did he lose Dave in his own house? 

Twenty minutes later and with the help of two housekeepers, he finally finds Dave in an enormous walk in closet. 

"What the fuck, Dave."

Dave turns around and Karkat's anger melts away. He's wearing a very expensive looking, plush tuxedo that's a stunning wine red and fitted perfectly to his body. Karkat's throat goes dry.

Dave smiles and walks up to him, grabbing his waist. "Hey sleeping beauty."

Karkat is busy trying to collect himself. Why the fuck does he look so good? He pushes Dave away, not too gently. "Thanks for waking me up, asshole" he grumbles. "It's nearly four."

Dave sticks his hands up. "Hey man, I tried. The first time you nearly punched me in the face with your eyes closed. The second time, nada. I literally thought you were in a coma. It's like you'd never slept before in your life." 

Karkat scowls. Dave isn't too far off, he barely gets any sleep on the best of nights. Honestly, the past two nights with Dave were probably the most sleep Karkat's gotten since his timer started. Fuck if he's going to tell Dave that though.  

"What's with the outfit?" he asks instead.

Dave rolls his eyes. "I totally fucking forgot, I have this... thing tonight."

Karkat narrows his eyes. " _What_ thing."

"It's nothing. Just a quick pre-release party for Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff."

Karkat's eyes nearly cross at the mention of that atrocious franchise. He looks Dave over. "With an outfit like that, I doubt it's nothing."

"Hey, I gotta wear this or my PR people will poke my eyes out. Plus," he adds, spinning around, "I look good, don't I."

Karkat crosses his arms. 

"C'mon," Dave nags, turning around and shaking his ass obscenely. "Who wouldn't want _this_ as arm candy tonight?"

Karkat's mind spins. "Wait a fucking second, you want _me_ to go to this thing?"

"Yeah, of course. Who's gonna cover for me while I stand by the food table and eat cocktail weenies until I hurl?"

"Ew, Dave." Karkat imagines himself at the party, surrounded by all the Zone One scum he hates. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He can't do it. "Anyway, fuck no. I'm out."

"Please," Dave begs, dropping to his knees and grabbing Karkat's hand. "Be my date tonight."

"Get up, idiot. How much does that suit even cost?"

Dave shrugs, but stays on the ground. 

"Please, we'll only stay an hour, and I'll find a way for us to slip away, I promise."

Dave is staring up at Karkat and his eyes are so impossibly red and open. Karkat squeezes his own eyes shut, and against his better judgement, nods. 

Two hours later and Karkat is dressed in the nicest clothes he's ever worn, standing in the grand foyer with his arm looped through Dave's. This party is not "nothing." There's an actual fucking red carpet leading up to Dave's door, and Karkat's already seen more celebrities than he can count. He keeps reflexively lifting his arm to check his timer before realizing with a jolt that he doesn't have to. There are people with cameras everywhere, and anxiety rolls through his gut as people stare at him and whisper. 

Karkat is leaning against a pillar, trying his best not to look supremely uncomfortable while Dave is in the midst of the party, schmoozing with the best of them. It's fine. He told Dave he'd be fine on his own and he is. 

Until his phone vibrates with a new text alert. It's Jake. Karkat's brows knit together when he sees the text. 

 _Watch out for strider!_ ⏰

What? God damn it, Jake. Leave it to him to give Karkat absolutely no useful information. Karkat quickly types out a reply. 

_WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?_

Minutes pass with no reply from Jake. Watch out for Dave? That's absurd. There's only one thing Jake could be worried about and that's securing his endless well of extorted time. But he'd said Strider. Why would Dave reveal his secret? It didn't make any sense. 

Something in Karkat's chest tightens as he watches the back of Dave's perfectly styled head, sunglasses resting neatly on top, his beautiful eyes on display to the world. No. Dave wouldn't sell Karkat out like that. He's gripping his phone so tightly it hurts, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Just as Karkat is turning with the intention to find the nearest toilet to puke into, the front doors of the mansion crash open. 

It's the Timekeepers. Karkat's stomach plunges into icy dread as he frantically looks through the crowd. When he finally finds the red eyes he's searching for they're looking back at him, wide and concerned. No. It couldn't be, they're probably here for someone else, or something else…

And then Karkat's arms are being grabbed on both sides. "Karkat Vantas. Come with us."

Karkat's eyes snap to Dave again, Dave, whose now facing him with his mouth hanging wide open, like he didn’t completely betray Karkat. The past two days, everything they’d shared together shatters. Hot, angry tears spill down Karkat's cheeks as he's grabbed by Timekeepers, manhandled up the stairs and into thrown into an empty office while dozens of eyes watch on.

Karkat is forced into a desk chair and flanked on both sides. A third Timekeeper stands at the desk opposite him. 

“What’s your relationship to Dave Strider?”

Karkat keeps his head hung; the only thing he can see are the Timekeeper's fingerless gloves, bracing against the wooden desk. He always knew this day would come. He's expected it. What he never expected was this hurt that feels like a laceration across his chest, raw and bleeding. 

"We have no relationship," Karkat says coldly, finally looking up at the Timekeeper in front of him. He takes in his pointed shades, the overly styled hair and sharp features, the firm way his jaw is set and the coldness in his eyes. 

And then Karkat eyes travel lower, to the badge hanging from his neck and his heart stops.

_Dirk Strider._

He doesn't need to look back up to see the family resemblance. He should have known. Nothing good ever happens to Karkat Vantas. 

How did he let this happen? 

"Okay. Tell me what you're doing in this zone," the Timekeeper says. Dirk says. Dave's brother or father or son, or fucking uncle says. 

Karkat doesn't answer. Of course he doesn't know who this man is to Dave, what did he even know about Dave that wasn't public knowledge? He'd told Dave so much, told him about his father, fuck— _he'd let Dave wear his father's clothes._

The nausea is back. He should've just left Dave in that alley yesterday. Chances are someone would have found him before he timed out, and of course he was famous enough that he could ask for five hours and pay them a decade in return. 

Suddenly the Timekeeper at his side has his arm, and Dirk is jerking up his sleeves. 

"Would you look at this," he says quietly, trailing a finger up Karkat's timer. "Wanna let me in on where to get a thousand years around here?"

Karkat's mouth gapes; he'd forgotten. The years that Dave gave him last night… For what? To make him look like a thief? Had Dave wanted to hook up just to get Karkat to trust him? He squeezes his eyes shut, hurt and confused, but says nothing. 

Hands slam on the table. 

"You're going to tell me how you've been smuggling time into your zone."

Karkat continues to sit in silence. As if he doesn't already know. A horrible thought occurs to him. Did Dave know what Karkat could do from the beginning? Was he sent to The Pink Moon that night? Did he have a capsule in his pocket the whole time, waiting for the moment Karkat stepped outside to run himself down to zero? 

If that was true, then none of it had been real. Not the kiss in the alley, not when he'd donated a century to the mission. Maybe that had been his whole plan, maybe the Timekeepers were supposed to catch Karkat right then. 

"You know, about fifty years ago there was another man who thought he could save the ghetto the same way. I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree." Dirk leans forward and into Karkat's frame of view. "Or maybe you're too young to remember how things turned out for your father."

Karkat clenches his jaw against a wave of anger. Everything feels like too much right now and nothing makes sense. His mind is teeming with so many different emotions he almost wishes he could time out here just to clear his head for a few seconds. 

"Fuck you," Karkat spits, and then his arm is abruptly twisted and a capsule is pressed to his wrist, the years that Dave gave him now falling into the Timekeeper's possession.  

"We'll be holding onto this time, along with you. We'll leave you two hours—for booking and processing."

The door flies open at that moment and Dave runs in, red faced and panting. His shades are back on his face, rendering his expression unreadable. 

Two Timekeepers run in seconds after him, grabbing an arm that he quickly yanks out of their grip. It looked like they'd been struggling, trying to keep him out of the room. But why? Didn't they understand Dave just wanted to come in here and rub his victory in Karkat's face? Fat chance. His face hardens. 

Fuck him. Karkat vows not to let Dave see him break. 

"Dirk, what the fuck!" 

Karkat refuses to look back up at Dave. Why is he still acting like he cares? The charade is over. 

"Thanks bro, but we can take it from here," Dirk tells him cooly. He looks at Karkat. "This is a wanted criminal, and he's now in our custody. But thank you for all your help. I can honestly say we wouldn't have caught him without you."

Karkat can't hear Dave's response through the blood rushing in his ears. He's seeing red. Dave's fake concern, Dirk's gloating tone… How could he have been so fucking _stupid?_

When Dirk walks over to pick him up by the arm, Karkat stands and lets himself be led to the doorway where Dave is standing. He doesn't think about Dave. Karkat doesn't think at all. Suddenly he’s only a vessel, his actions led by a force inside him, something forged of pure gut and instinct.

Calm as anything, he reaches down and yanks Dirk’s gun from its holster. Almost in slow motion, Dirk’s eyes widen and Karkat immediately kicks him hard, in the center of his chest. 

And before anyone can do anything else, Karkat is holding the gun to the side of Dave’s neck. Thin, yellow eyebrows sink beneath the rim of his shades. 

“Karkat,” he starts. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Karkat turns to Dirk. Everyone else is unimportant. “If _anyone_ follows me, I’ll put a bullet in your brother. Understand?”

Dirk is like a statue under those goddamn fucking sunglasses, his hands still raised halfway up over his chest where Karkat had kicked him. 

“UNDERSTAND?”

Dirk nods almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. 

"We need a car. Now." Like he's finally getting it, Dirk reaches into his pocket slowly and pulls out a car fob. Karkat snatches it from his outstretched hand. 

Now then. Karkat lowers the gun into a more manageable position, jabbing Dave in the lower back. “Go. Now!” 

On the landing he arranges them into a sick parody of the way they’d been cozily arm in arm earlier tonight, Karkat pressing the gun snug into Dave's side underneath his jacket and hustling them down the stairs. 

The crowd parts for them, everyone's eyes on Dave, but more importantly, everyone's eyes on Karkat. 

It's still daylight. Karkat steers Dave to the passenger door of the Timekeeper car parked in front of the mansion. 

"Get in. If you run, I will shoot you." 

He waits for Dave to comply before getting into the driver's seat, saying a small prayer as he jabs the ignition button. Thankfully, the car starts and Karkat slams down on the accelerator. His adrenaline is taking a dive now, the gun between his knees. He doesn't have a plan, just drives. 

Dave turns to him, eyes wide. "Holy shit dude—"

"Stop talking!" 

Karkat's hands are shaking on the steering wheel. "I—I told you everything! I let you into my apartment, my life, I—" _Trusted you._

"Karkat, wait—"

"I said shut the fuck up!" Karkat screeches, reaching down for the gun and fumbling with it for a second before waving it at Dave. "You sorry piece of shit, you gave me that time so I could look like a thief! 

"No—" 

"And when were you planning on sharing the fact that your brother is a fucking Timekeeper? Just tell me, was anything you said to me true? I thought you were different, I thought you weren't one of _them,_ but it was all lies, wasn't it?" 

Angry tears are falling from Karkat's eyes, so much so that he's having a hard time even seeing where he's going. Karkat is just thinking how lucky it is that the road is empty when Dave suddenly lets out an aggravated noise and lunges across the middle of the car.  

The car swerves. "STOP!" 

"Just fucking… pull over and listen to me!" Dave grunts, swinging his arm and managing to knocking the gun to the floor.

"NO," Karkat yells, trying to hold Dave back with one arm on his chest, while he swipes at the steering wheel. 

"I didn't tell him anything I swear!"

"Yeah right, you fuck—"

They hit something in the road. The tires hiss, and the last thing Karkat feels is the sharp lurch of the car before it goes careening off the overpass.  


End file.
